Charlie's Angels
by ParvatiPadma
Summary: It's January 2000 - Voldemort's been gone for three years and it's pretty quiet. But not for long. Can Harry Potter really be an enemy? The help of three young secret agents is enlisted. They are all the Ministry can rely on. They are Charlie's Angels. Ch
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns all – all books, all merchandise, all logos, all films…

Charlie's Angels

Chapter One: Independent Women

The man looked out of the triple-glazed, sound and bulletproof window at the giant contraption facing him and shook his head. The muggles had really gone to town on this one; they had literally reinvented the wheel. "It's called the Millennium Eye," he explained to the client sitting patiently across from his desk. "The idea being that when you're up at the top you can see the whole of London." He turned back to face his client. "Not that they can see much of it on a day like this." The sky outside was a dull wash of greys. 

"But they can't see the _whole _of London anyway?" asked the client, the intonation in his American accent revealing his surprise.

The man laughed and eased the tension between them somewhat. "Oh no," he smiled. "The Ministry has got _that_ sorted. They can't see the entrance to Diagon, Knock-turn or Eventu – or even the Leaky Cauldron."

"And here…?"

"It's not even visible to wizards – unless they happen to work here."

The American nodded his approval. "Well, to business."

A nod was given in agreement. "I assume it's really the girls you want?"

The American looked sheepish. "Mainly, yes, although we do understand that they haven't been in the business long."

"They trained for six months and they've only been fighting for three years but they're very efficient. If you care to look at their previous cases…"

The American dismissed this with a wave of his hand. "No, no that won't be necessary. We have other ways of knowing."

The man swallowed a snigger as he thought of the American stereotypical character's line; _we have ways of making you talk. _"And I – I assume you'll be requiring all three of them." 

"We are not certain about this one," drawled the American, pointing at a photograph of the three young women that was propped up on the desk. "The one in blue."

The man started. "Why ever not? Her six-month training in the Antarctic was incredibly intensive – if not the hardest…"

"We are aware of that. Her ability as an agent does not concern us. It is just that you cannot deny that she has…connections with the suspect."

The man laughed. "We all do, though. Anyone who went to Hogwarts or who has money invested in Gringotts or even has _magic_ has connections with him. It's impossible that they don't."

The American cleared his throat. "_Her_ relationship is slightly different with him." 

The man sighed. "They do not function well without being in a three." He could imagine the Blue angel's fury at not being part of an operation.

"I'm afraid it's almost out of the question… unless…"

"Unless what?" He tried not to sound too impatient.

"Unless we could use her connection with him to our advantage."

_You bloody American bastard._ He couldn't believe he hadn't thought of it before. That's why the yank had come to them; he wanted to use her as a plant. 

Why was he, head of this division, even considering taking this case anyway? Why should he bother talking to the girls or his boss about it? To be frank, he hated it. He refused to believe any of the accusations. Wizards _did_ go bad, but not him…not… 

"What did you have in mind?" he asked gritting his teeth.

"Constant surveillance. Meetings where she has a microphone – "

He almost hissed. "The Angels are not to be bugged."

"We have everyone's best interests at heart in this matter." _I bet you bloody do. _"The Angel could be in danger – if she has a microphone on her person we can provide back-up. Would you rather have her in jeopardy?"

"I'll speak to them," came the eventual reply. Then - "don't call us Mr. Tyrell. We'll call you."

                                                                                    *

"Miss Lavender Brown?" asked the assistant, looking around the comfortable waiting room at the eager, anticipating faces.

"Oh yes," smiled a bubbly young woman, dressed in yellow. "That's me!"

"Hi," said the assistant as he gave her a fleeting smile. "Will you follow me please?"

"Of course," she replied, breathing sensuously. It was never too early to impress. She turned and followed him out of the waiting room, pausing briefly to give the others a consoling smile. This one was her's already, she could tell. Silently, the assistant led her to a small room where four judges – three men and one woman - sat and waited expectantly.

"Hi," they chorused. Lavender merely smiled. "And what will you be singing today?" asked the woman, encouragingly. Lavender beamed. "_SOS_." The judges exchanged glances. "Ah," said one of the judges, a thin, arrogant man, "how original."

Lavender opened her mouth wide and inhaled. _"Where are those happy days? They seem so hard to find."_

The judges were blown away. They looked astonished. They must love me, thought Lavender. Oddly enough, another judge – a round podgy one with pretentious shades – was covering his ears and another – a grey-haired, glasses wearer – was shaking his head. 

How strange, thought Lavender. "_I used to be so nice, I used to be _– er I mean – _it used to be so good…"_

It was at that point that Miss Brown's handbag – which she had left on the floor in order for her hands to be free to dance – started vibrating. _Damnit, _thought Lavender. _Not now!_

"Hadn't you better, er, answer your handbag?" asked the fat judge, deigning to take his hands off his ears. "I'm sure it'll be fine," replied Lavender, laughing nervously. "I'll just do the other verse."

"**No!" **the judges chorused immediately. Lavender raised her eyebrows. "That is to say, we've heard all we want to… we'll let you know." _That _was better, thought Lavender. They had obviously been so impressed with her rendition of the first verse that they didn't need to hear any more. Lavender smirked, thanked them for listening, stopped to pick up her handbag and left the audition room. Checking no one was in hearing range, she zipped open her bag, reached for her yellow Nokia 8310 and answered the waiting call. "Goldy here," she said.

*

Knock, knock. "Parvati? Parvati Patil? Answer the door, I know you're in there!" Parvati rushed to answer the door of her single bedroom London flat. On opening, she saw her twin sister standing in the corridor in a fury. "Padma," said Parvati, a little shaken. "Come in."

"Why thankyou," her sister replied sarcastically, brushing past her heading for the living-room. "You're welcome," said Parvati quietly to the empty corridor. She shut the door, checked no one had followed her sister and went into the living-room where she found Padma glaring up at her from a sofa. "What are you doing in London and how can I help?"

"Where the hell where you yesterday?" demanding Padma, answering a question with a question.

Yesterday… yesterday. What the hell had _happened _yesterday? "Yesterday?" she asked meekly.

Padma rolled her eyes. "Yes, you know, yesterday… the 5th of January 2000… the day when our parents got back from Chennai and landed in Luton? The day when you were supposed to pick them up? The day when you abandoned them – the people who raised you – to make their own way to their house in Essex?"

Parvati groaned and sank into the sofa beside her sister. The 5th – she had thought it was the 7th. "What happened?" she asked.

"They called me of course," snapped Padma. "What else could they do but call their only other child – never mind the fact that she lives miles away in Manchester and has to drive all the way down at three o'clock in the bloody morning…" She paused for breath.

"Padma…" began Parvati. "I'm really, really…"

"No," interrupted Padma slickly. "No apologies. Just answer the question."

"What question?"

"The one I just asked," said Padma through gritted teeth. "Where the hell where you yesterday?"

Parvati let out a breath because she knew that she would be lectured when she answered. "I was at work."

Padma stared at her as though not quite understanding what her sister was saying. Her mouth opened and closed wordlessly as though she were a fish. Then she closed her eyes. "You were at work. I see. No further explanation is necessary."

Parvati put out her hand and took Padma's in it. "It was a real emergency…"

"An emergency?" demanded Padma, snatching her hand away and opening her eyes. "I work in a casualty department!"

"What I'm talking about's more serious…" And though she regretted saying the words as soon as they tumbled out of her mouth, she was right. Yesterday Parvati had had to track down a convict who had escaped from Azkaban and transfigure a revolver into a portkey so that when the prisoner tried to shoot her he had been transported back to his cell…

" – More serious?" spluttered Padma. "More _serious_? Yesterday, because I left, an eight-year old boy nearly died! And what you had to do was more important than that?"

Parvati was about to say yes. After all, the boy _hadn't_ died and the jail break would have caused a great many deaths, had she, Parvati Patil, not intervened. However, as usual she could not tell Padma anything so she bit her lip. "No," she replied tonelessly. "Of course it wasn't more serious than that. I'm sorry."

Padma sighed and cooled down somewhat. "Why can't you just admit you forgot?"

It was true, in a way. She would have remembered it was the 5th if she hadn't been awake for the last 24 hours – but she had forgotten, there was no denying it. "You're right Padma, I'm sorry. I did forget. But something important did come up at work and…"

Padma held up her hand. "I know something came up and I know how important your career is to you and thank god you're no longer the flighty Gryffindor that you once were but… sometimes we – Abbu, Ammi and me – we feel as though you put your work before us."

Parvati looked at her in complete shock. She had known her mysterious job bothered her family but she hadn't realised that the situation was this serios. "No, no that's not true at all!" she protested.

Padma smiled apologetically for what she was about to say. "Well it seems that way. You're never home and when you are you can suddenly be called away for no apparent reason. You're always out of your flat and we can never reach you because you won't tell us your mobile number…" She stopped because Parvati was about to interrupt. "Yes, yes I know that you insist you don't _know _your mobile number; the only person who does is your boss, he's the only one who ever calls you…" She sighed. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to lose my temper – well actually I did but anyway – Ammi and Abbu are back now and it would be nice if you came back in the car with me to Essex to see them after their trip…" She broke off because she heard a vibrating noise. _Oh no_ thought Parvati. _Not now._ "What's that?" asked Padma. 

Parvati sighed. "It's my phone," she replied. "My work phone."

Padma knitted her eyebrows. "Well?" she asked expectantly. "Aren't you going to get it?"

Parvati shook her head. "I can't."

Padma almost laughed. "Why on earth not? What's the point in them calling you then?"

"I can't answer it while I'm in company," said Parvati exasperated. "I have to be alone." 

Silence. Padma opened and closed her mouth parrot-fashion again. "Fine," she said coolly at last. "Be alone if that's what you want. I'll make your excuses to our parents." She left abruptly, slamming the door behind her. Parvati groaned and reached for the red Nokia 8310 that was vibrating on her coffee table. "Scarlet here," she answered.

*

"And now, for our next lecture please welcome Ms. Hermione Granger." A mountain of applause burst forward as Hermione nervously got to her feet and took the stand. This was it, the big one. If she wanted to make it as a Professor at the same time as juggling it with her career she had to excel in this speech. Confidence had never been a problem for Hermione but that didn't stop her legs from shaking as she tested the microphone. She took a deep breath and smiled at the assorted wizards and witches seated in front of her. "My Professors, Lords, Knights, Sorcerers and Sorceresses, Witches and Wizards," she began. "Today I am here to remind you of how great a need the wizarding world has to welcome those who are not of pure-blood. I will begin by…" She broke off. Her phone was vibrating. The audience turned around looking at each other, wondering at the identity of the guilty culprit. _Not now! Oh God, not now! _"Um…" She _never _said "um." A buzz of whispered conversation began. Hermione felt the Minister for Magic looking at her in astonishment. "Will you excuse me?" she asked. She looked up at her tutor. "I'm sorry Sir. Could you give me about an hour?" He looked absolutely furious. 

"Permission granted, Ms. Granger. We'll reschedule - for another _six months_." Hermione felt utterly humiliated. Her one chance was gone. She had nothing to do but grab her notes, smile apologetically at the audience and make her way out of the auditorium, her phone clutched in her right hand. Once she had got out of the building, she pressed receive and said in an utterly pissed off voice "Skye here. This had bloody well better be good."

*

Bosley watched from his window as, almost simultaneously, three sports cars drew up outside. The first was a yellow Jaguar, the second a red SAAB, and the third a blue TVR. Three young women emerged from the cars, each slamming their doors shut. Bosley flinched; he could not hear the sound of the doors but he could still tell, by the expression on the girls' faces, that none of them were happy. They did not acknowledge each other – they never did, unless they were alone or in a meeting. As they entered the building through separate entrances, Bosley turned away from the window and sat down at his desk, waiting for the onslaught.

The girls burst through the door and the last of them slammed it behind her. This time, Bosley heard the thud. 

"What the **_hell_** do you mean by standing between me and fame…"

"If my family disowns me I'm blaming **_you_**!"

"Thanks, Bosley. Thanks – I've just failed the degree I've been working on for the past three years."

Bosley sighed and waited for the storm to subside. This was nothing new – the girls were always busy when he was told to call them. True, they had never _all _been doing something so important to them to hit him with abuse at the same time…

"They loved me, LOVED me, I tell you and then what?"

"She had forgiven me – they were _all_ going to forgive me but guess what comes next…"

"I was confident, I'd made a brilliant introduction but it was all too good to be true because – "

"MY BLOODY MOBILE RANG!"

They paused, realizing that they had spoken together. The three of them exchanged a sardonic smile and promised to comfort each other once the battle was won. Bosley opened him mouth, about to speak.

"Well, what is it then?"

"Why are we here?"

"Go on Bosley – I'm dying to find out what's more that what we just mentioned."

Bosley let out a breath. "Sit down," he said. They still looked defiant, but after nodding at each other sat down in front of him. "Before I tell you the case, may I remind you that when you stepped in here three years ago you signed a contract. In that contract, you agreed that work came first – that your personal lives were secondary…"

"Yes, secondary, but not non-existent." 

Bosley held up a hand to silence her. "Goldy, I'm sorry that I called you in the middle of your audition but if you'd told me you had one, instead of going behind my back, I may not have done so."

"That's because if I'd told you I had one, you wouldn't have let me go," she pouted.

"That's not true – not necessarily. It is true that there is no way you would have been allowed to spend six months in some pop competition, but I would have let you have a go at entering all the same."

Goldy bit her lip and was silent. Bosley resumed his speech. "In that contract, you agreed that the needs of our world came before personal, selfish needs…"

"Selfish? You think wanting to look after your parents is selfish?"

"I understand Scarlet, but you have a sister who is equally responsible for their well-being. You must admit, that you do your fair share."

Scarlet shook her head. "I left them stranded at Luton airport…"

Bosley looked confused. "But on the day they returned, you didn't even have a mission!"

"I know," sighed Scarlet. "Forget it."

"And in that contract you also agreed that this is your career." Bosley looked pointedly at the third girl. "I know it is," she said finally. "But sometimes I feel like I never have to use any intelligence in this profession. I just want to have something to show that I'm – I'm still clever, I suppose."

For the first time, Bosley smiled. "But you didn't want that. You wanted to kick ass, save the world, remember, Skye? Hogwarts was over, Harry had defeated Voldemort and you didn't have a clue what to do with yourself."

She smiled, remembering her naïveté. "I know. But I was wrong. This life doesn't satisfy me. You go out, have a punch-up, save the day and then…"

"There's no House cup waiting for you at the end?" he asked wryly.

Skye shrugged. "I don't know."

Bosley sighed, opened a file and took a pen. "Go and get changed. The boss'll be here in 10 minutes."

Anyone who could have seen the girls before and after changing clothes would have been astonished. Lavender Brown entered her changing room wearing a short, strappy purple dress with white stilettos and emerged as Goldy, in black knee-high boots, a leather skirt and a tight, black jacket worn over a yellow vest-top.

Parvati Patil was wearing blue jeans and a grey hooded-top, but minutes later transformed into Scarlet in red ankle boots, tight, leather trousers and a dark red leather jacket.

But anyone who knew Hermione Granger, who started off in a pin-stripe trouser suit, would not recognise her as Skye, wearing an all-in-one marine leather cat-suit. The girls made their way back to Bosley's office where they found that he was sitting in a different seat. At the head of the table was their boss. The girls gulped. They hardly ever saw him, with his messy auburn hair and commanding person. It was strange, thought Skye, that this man now terrified them so much, this man who had once been like a brother to her. She, Scarlet and Goldy sat down next to Bosley, opposite him. He looked at each of them in turn and smiled at their anxiety. "Good morning angels," he said.

"Good morning, Charlie," they chorused in unison.

His smile widened. "Bosley tells me that you were somewhat disconcerted at having been called in this morning."

Bosley shifted uncomfortably in his seat as evil looks were shot at him. "Anyone," continued Charlie, "Who is unhappy to be here, had the opportunity to leave before, during and immediately after the training programme. That is no longer option. I do not have time to waste in employing another angel."

The angels looked at each other nervously. "I do not like my time wasted. Please do not make me have to hear such things from Bosley again."

"I doubt that'll be a problem," muttered Scarlet to herself." Charlie did not hear her. 

"We have been given a case, which I frankly do not like or believe in. However it is better that we take it rather than an organisation, which believes in curse first, think later." He paused. "The movements of the dark forces have been relatively quiet over the past few years, since Voldemort's demise. However, we now have reason to believe that there is someone attempting to take his place – a possible heir."

The girls straightened up. "There is, of course, only one person who would know who Voldemort left his powers to…"

"Who?" asked Goldy.

"The person who brought him down," replied Scarlet, looking at Skye.

"Harry," said Skye.

"This is where it becomes difficult," continued Charlie. "I am almost certain that the reason that we were approached is because of Skye's relationship with Harry. At first I was furious, but then I tried to see it from their point of view…"

"Yes, yes that's all very well," snapped Skye. "But the fact is that I haven't heard from Harry since we graduated from Hogwarts. Voldemort was defeated but Harry almost had  a nervous breakdown after their final battle. After Sirius was acquitted, the two of them went abroad. I got one owl from him." She stopped, and looked at the floor. "Just one. Ron didn't get much more than that either and if he did, he didn't tell me." She looked up at Charlie. "_You'd_ know more about that. So I'm sorry, but I won't be much help."

Charlie frowned, concentrating. "I understand, you're graduating next week?"

Skye snorted. "No, due to unforeseeable circumstances, I was unable to deliver my final presentation. They've shoved me back six months."

Charlie waved this away with his hand. "I'll talk to the Minister for Magic. I'm sure you can give your talk tomorrow." He hurried on before she could interrupt him. "Now, you will owl Harry and invite him to your graduation. When he arrives, we will microphone you so that we at the office hear what he has to say on the matter."

Skye looked confused. "Microphone me? What do you mean? Why can't I just bring him here, or to the Burrow?"

Charlie cleared his throat. "Skye, we're not treating him as a long-lost buddy here. He's a suspect."

Skye stood up, her legs shaking. "What? How can you think that? How dare you? This is _Harry Potter_!"

"Time can change, Skye. Power can change them."

"Not people like Harry! For God's sake he was more than the Boy Who Lived. He was your brother's best friend!"

"Exactly Skye. He was. But you just said it, you have no idea who he is now. Now he will come to your graduation, is that clear?"

Skye glared at him. "Yes," she said finally, gritting her teeth.

"Pardon?"

"Yes, _sir,_" she spat.

"Good. I suggest the other angels also go to your graduation, for back-up, if necessary."

"Back-up!" Skye spluttered. "You think my best friend's going to try and kill me?"

"You are all dismissed. Leave. Now."

Scarlet, Goldy and Bosley slowly got up. Skye remained seated, glaring at Charlie. "I said _Now." Silently, Skye stood up and walked out of the door, not bothering to wait for the others. _

A/N: I'm back! 


	2. Graduation Day

Charlie's Angels 

Disclaimer: The following is based on the characters, and locations of J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter series and the popular Charlie's Angels TV series and film. I don't know whom to attribute but whoever it is has done a good job!

*          *            *            *            *            *             *            *            *            *            *            *

Chapter Two: Graduation Day

This, by rights, should have been the happiest day of her life. She was graduating from the most prestigious Wizarding University in Europe, if not the world, with a First. This had been Hermione's dream, ever since that owl had come swooping through her bedroom window ten years ago with a piece of parchment confirming something that she had suspected for years – that she was special. She was worth more than going to the local comprehensive, or even the Girls' Only Private School in town. She was destined for greater things and if that started out at this – this Hogwarts place then so be it. 

She had never really been prepared for _how_ great the things would be though – no matter how many times she had read about performing magic, it had never taken away the thrill of when she had actually opened a keyhole by saying _alohomora_. No matter how many times she had shuddered and been sick by what Voldemort had done, it had not prepared her for seeing Cedric Diggory's body lying grey and lifeless on the Quidditch pitch. And no matter how many times she had heard whispers about Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, it never really prepared her for meeting him on the Hogwarts Express, finding out he was just as scared and nervous as she was about starting school, and eventually becoming his best friend. That had been Hogwarts. After seven years of battling against the dark forces, she thought she had had enough. She had won a scholarship to Merlin's Academy and for the past three years had been working hard at things she loved – Arithmancy, Charms, Transfiguration: the _intellectual_ side of magic. It had been brilliant. No one, not her parents, not Ron, no one knew that she only did this in the day-time. 

At night, she was one of the Angels, fighting against the Dark Arts, people who wanted to bring Voldemort back. She loved the adrenaline rush she got when she kicked, punched, backflipped, somersaulted. It was something she had never been able to do - until her three-month training programme in the Antarctic had turned her into some sort of superwoman. Now she could kick major Dark-Marked ass, and she wouldn't have revoked her decision for anything – not even to make passing her degree easier. Still, it had been a tough struggle balancing her studies with her work, so today, the epitome of her studying, the day when she would be presented with the Order of Merlin should have been the happiest day of her life.

Except, of course, it wasn't. She hadn't earned this; she had given her presentation a day late, which according to time honoured tradition meant she had failed. She felt as though she were cheating the system and receiving an award she did not deserve. Still, she _had _done 95% of the course work and passed with flying colours…

Okay, she admitted to herself, she wasn't just feeling guilty about the award – she was feeling guilty about what she was about to do. She had, as Charlie had demanded, sent Harry an owl the week before. Whether he had received it or not was unknown; she had not received a reply. She would – they would – just have to see whether he came to the graduation. She had told Ron that she had invited him – she had not told him _why _of course as Ron had no idea what his second eldest brother did for a living…

Hermione straightened the graduation robes and brushed the back of her hair through again. She told herself she wanted to look smart for her tutor, the Dean of the Academy and the journalists who would be covering the event. But she knew she was lying. As crazy as it sounded, she wanted to look good, smart, studious and _unchanged_ for **him**, for the best friend who she had not seen for three and a half years. She wondered what he looked like now – whether he was still skinny and thin-faced or whether he had broadened out a bit. She had changed a hell of a lot – had he? _Not in that way_ she begged. _Please, don't let it be in the way Charlie thinks._

"Blue Angel, come in. Repeat, Blue Angel, come in." The sound from her earpiece was piercing. She adjusted it and picked up the tiny microphone that was lying on her dressing table. "Blue Angel here, Roger Bosley."

"Awaiting commands, over."

Hermione sighed, pinned on the microphone and tapped it once with her wand, making it invisible. "See you in a minute, over and out." With one last look in the mirror, she apparated.

*          *            *            *            *            *             *            *            *            *             *             *

"And now, for our one and only Upper First award this year, Miss Hermione Granger!" 

Amidst a loud smattering of applause, Hermione walked coolly across the stage. She was careful not to look too eager – not because she was scared of looking like the swot who had rushed forward and pulled the Sorting Hat on her head, but because she didn't want to attract any more attention to herself than was necessary. She shook The Minister's hand firmly as he placed a silk witch's hat on her head and attempted to pin the gold medallion onto her cloak. Hermione tried not to look alarmed as he was fiddling with the same fastening on her cloak that held the microphone. Cornelius Fudge, now an old man, was evidently having some difficulty. Hermione smiled. "Allow me Minister," she said, taking the medallion from him. Fudge looked put out but made no attempt to stop her. 

As Hermione left the stage she didn't really hear the clapping starting up again – instead she was wondering whether Fudge still held a grudge against her and Ron for being Harry's so-called side-kicks, and whether he had any idea that the boy he had tried to imprison in St. Mungo's could very well be one of the applauders.

At the reception, Hermione found herself being hassled by a large crowd. Her parents were there of course, looking nervous as always at a Wizarding occasion but still incredibly proud, Professor McGonagall was there with most of the Hogwarts Staff, Arthur and Molly had come with nearly all of their children, and of course Hagrid had popped in, his head almost touching the ceiling. 

To be truthful, the only one she was glad to see was Ron, who only grinned at her cheekily while the rest of them surrounded her.

"Hermione! We're so proud of you darling!"

"You've done Hogwarts proud dear… I wish I could say one hundred points to Gryffindor…"

"I never thought when you sat stubbornly in Potions that one day you would be receiving an Order of Merlin, Miss Granger. In fact, I still can't believe it."

"You've done brilliantly, dear – I just wish bloody Lucius Malfoy could see you now, show his bloody pure-blood family a thing or two…"

"Arthur! Really. Hermione, you don't need to prove anything to anyone – I think you've already done that."

"Nicely done Hermione, Charlie's sorry he couldn't be here – had some business thing or other…"

"Well Hermione, this is quite an honour. Of course I would have received my First had I chosen to go into Further Education…"

"Shut it Percy! Granger! We got you a really, really cool graduation present."

"Yeah from Mister. Bathrooms… no, mum, of course it's not a toilet seat… yes of course we've grown up in ten years… hehe, just our idea of a joke."

"Girl power, Hermione! I notice that none of the people who got Firsts were Wizards."

"Oh Hermione, if only Dumbledore could see yeh now…"

Hermione let out a breath. "Thankyou everyone. Thankyou for coming. Thanks." She smiled at them, waiting for them to start drifting away. But they didn't. They wanted to know more, about what she was going to do with her degree, whether she was going to go into lecturing, or the Ministry or, as her mother suggested to everyone's amusement, dentistry.

Eventually Ron rescued her by taking her arm and leading her away from the throng into a quieter corner. Then he smiled and gave her a long hug. She embraced him back, wondering whether ten years ago Ron would ever have envisaged himself being so open in his friendship. Eventually he let her go. "Way to go, Hermione," he said grinning.

"Thanks," she replied. "And thanks for – you know," she indicated at the crowd of her fans who were finally beginning to disperse.

"Your admirers getting to you?" he asked as though she were a famous actress.

She sighed, hoping she wasn't being too melodramatic. "It's not that I don't appreciate them being here… it's just the only people I really wanted here were you …" She stopped abruptly as if this were what she meant to have said.

"And Harry?" asked Ron gently. "You did say _people_."           

She blushed. "No sign of him yet?"

Ron shook his head. "And to be honest, I don't blame him either. If he were going to come back, why would he do so in a public place? There are Rita Skeeters crawling all over the place – one sign of Harry Potter and The Daily Prophet would have a field day."

Hermione's eyebrows knitted. "I hadn't thought of that," she admitted. _And neither _she thought _did Charlie… or did he? Was this intentional?_

"Enough about me," she said, ignoring the fact that she had not been talking about herself at all. "What about you? How's work?"

"Ah same old, goblins getting furious at the elves, elves passing the buck on to the dwarves, that sort of thing." In his sixth year, Ron had chosen to do Magical Languages because his mother had made him. To his delight he had found a natural talent for the subject, even surpassing Hermione's level. He now worked as a translator for the Ministry, already having moved up through the ranks more than once. 

_"Press him about the feud, Skye. This could be important."_ Pretending to take an interest, Hermione asked whether the goblins were blaming the dwarves.

Ron looked surprised but pleased at the question. "Well, it's really a question of just how much blame. The goblins are always ready to blame anyone, as long as it's not another goblin, of course. When it comes to the dwarves, it's an interesting matter… they've had dealings with one Conrad Clinker who…"

_"Skye, this is brilliant, keep him on it."_

"Conrad Clinker?" asked Hermione, looking quizzical. "That sounds familiar."

"I'm not surprised," replied Ron. "Clinker's often in Witch Weekly. He's a millionaire and was voted Most Eligible Batchelor under 30. He's absolutely loaded – but no-one really knows how he made his fortune which is where the dwarves come in… but I'm really not supposed to talk about that."

_"Skye? Can you hear me?" _It was Scarlet's voice.

"Yes, yes…" said Hermione. "I can…"

_"Good."_

"You can what?" asked Ron, looking confused.

"I can see how the two would be connected. What do the goblins reckon? That the dwarves paid for illegal wands?"

Ron looked even more surprised. "Quite good at this Hermione, aren't you?"

She shrugged, although inwardly felt anxious that she was giving her spying skills away. _"Skye." _Scarlet's voice. _"Let him do the talking, don't pretend to know anything about what he's talking about."_

"So go on," she urgedalthough she kept looking to her left and right. 

"I can't say anymore I'm afraid," apologised Ron.

_"Skye." _Goldy's voice. _"Don't keep looking around you. He'll catch on."_

Hermione immediately reverted her attention back to Ron but it was too late.

"Still on the lookout?" he asked gingerly.

"Hmm… oh. Sorry."

He smiled. "It's okay." He led her over to a three-seater sofa and they sat. "It's easier to see the doorway from here."

"Sorry Ron," she said. "I am interested. Go on about Clinker."

"Hermione," he said in a more serious tone, "Why now?"

"What do you mean?" she asked, although she knew exactly what he was talking about. "Why now?" he repeated. "Is it just your graduation or has something else happened? Something that makes you think Harry's in danger?"

Hermione shook her head. She couldn't tell him even if she wanted to – Charlie would be monitoring her every word. _Some tough guy _she thought bitterly. _Spying on your little brother. _Lately, she had been feeling very angry with Charlie. He had changed a lot in the past three years – or maybe she had just got to know him better.

"Unless," said Ron, breaking her chain of thought. "Unless this isn't the first letter? Have you written to him before?"

Hermione shook her head. "The only owl I wrote was the one with you – three months after Hogwarts."

"Ah yes," said Ron. "Those three months. Do you realise that was the hardest time in my life? No Harry, and no Hermione either. I don't suppose now you'll tell me where you were…? No, of course not. God, you're almost as bad as he is."

Hermione looked at him sharply. "That's not fair. I told you how long I was going for. I told you when I would be back."

He broke into a smile. "And you were – the very day, the very hour." She smiled back. They were quiet for a few moments. "He's not going to come, is he?" she asked quietly, looking down.

"Who isn't?"

"Very funny Ron," she said looking up at him. 

Ron had gone pale. "I didn't say anything," he whispered.

"Yes, you did. You said…" She broke off mid-sentence, as she realised that those two words had not been in Ron's voice. Nor had they come from Ron's direction. Slowly she turned to the empty space on the sofa beside her. She could not see anyone, but the cushion of the sofa was sagging as though someone were sitting on it. _"Skye, we can see where you are. Talk to him. Find out if it's Harry." _Slowly she turned back to Ron, who was looking as though he had seen Aragog, and continued talking as though it were addressed to him. "Hello," she said, trying to keep a steady voice. 

Ron caught on and replied to her "How do we know it's him?"

"Not here." They shivered, now certain that this was a third voice.

_"Skye, it's Bosley. Keep getting him to talk – I'm working on a voice decryption."_

Hermione smiled and laughed as though Ron had said something incredibly witty. "We're not going to follow some random person. We need some confirmation that it's you." A moment later, she and Ron both shivered. Something or someone had just touched their hands. The invisible figure picked up Hermione's hand first and brought it to its forehead. Hermione tried to look as though she were gesturing at something, and continued looking at Ron, mid-conversation.

"So I declined Fred and George's toilet-seat very politely. I hope they weren't too…" She broke off and gasped. Her smile quickly returned. "It's him," she said happily to Ron.

"How do you know?" he asked. "How can you be sure?"

_"Skye. Do you know?"_

"We can be sure," she replied. Hermione took one of Ron's hands in hers and very subtly traced the pattern of a scar over his palm with her index finger. "Ah," said Ron. "Well in that case…"

Hermione got up from her seat. "Well I'd best be off then," she smiled. "Thankyou for coming."

Ron started. "Hey wait a minute…"

Hermione began walking away, clutching the invisible robes. She did not want to get Ron involved in this. A lightning shaped scar on an invisible person's forehead did not certify anything. If this figure was Harry, as she believed him to be, then Ron could meet him later. "Follow me, angel," she said into her microphone.

Ron stared at Hermione's back. Angel? She had never called him _that _before. Still, if she needed backup, then that's what he was there for. In any case, Harry was _his_ best friend too. If, at fourteen years old, he had been the thing Harry would miss most, then surely he had a right to meet him as well. Trying to look as surreptitious as possible, he followed Hermione out of the door.

About twenty metres away at the bar, two waitresses were cleaning glasses and indulging in what seemed to be idle gossip. "So listen – I says I was trying to get my leg Over Bosley, come in," said one of them, with long dark hair down to her waist, tied in a plait.

"And I says was that the signal, right?" continued the other, trying not to touch her bleached-blonde hair.

"And he says?"

"He says, it is!" They both broke into high-pitched laughter and made their way to the back exit.

*          *            *            *            *            *             *            *            *            *             *             *

"Where are we going?" asked Hermione. She had got her phone out and was talking into it so that passers-by didn't wonder why she appeared to be talking to herself. She did not get a reply. Instead the person in front of her stopped moving and said very quietly. "Turn around." Hermione looked over her shoulder. Ten metres behind them was Ron. "Oh no," muttered Hermione. She put her phone away. Then, putting on another act for whoever might be spying on them she cried "Ron! There you are, I was just going to call you."

Ron looked very bewildered but hurried to catch up with her. She linked her arm in his. "I know a great place we can go," she continued as she gave the person in front of her a shove. "Hermione," began Ron. "What's going on? I don't understand…"

"Skye, it's Bosley. Order from Charlie: you cannot bring Ron on this mission. Repeat – you cannot bring Ron on this mission."

Hermione said quietly to Ron, "I would have preferred you not to come."

Ron stared at her. "Hermione, be sensible. You can't go chasing some random person…" He broke off realising that the random person could probably hear him. "Some random person," he continued, now whispering, "By yourself."

_I'm not by myself, _thought Hermione indignantly, as the two of them followed the invisible figure in front of them.

"Skye, we're here. Don't worry babe, we've got you covered."

_"You and Ron. Don't worry Bosley.  And the random invisible guy." _

They were approaching one of the Underground Stations. "You better not be taking me on the tube, mister," said Hermione addressing Ron.

"No," came the answer.

"Skye, do not let him take you on the Underground. Repeat: do not let him take you on the Underground. He could have people waiting on the platform."

Hermione was an odd mix of emotions. If this were Harry, then she trusted him not to harm her or Ron. If this were someone else, she probably could hold him off and Scarlet and Goldy were nearby for back-up… but that would mean exposing her strength to Ron and that could land him in serious danger.

They were descending the stairs now and approaching one of the platforms. It didn't take Hermione long to realise that they were on the wrong side of the platform – all the passengers were waiting on the opposite side and a train was approaching. She noticed Scarlet and Goldy were standing amongst the crowd, separately.

_"Ask him if you're getting the tube, Skye." _

She looked up at Ron, but clenched the invisible robes more tightly. "Are we getting the tube?"

There was no answer.

_"Skye, get out now. Take Ron and leave by the exit you came in."_

The train came whizzing by and Hermione was cut off from seeing Scarlet and Goldy.

_"Skye, come in. Repeat: Skye, come in."_

The invisible man reached back and took hold of Hermione's free hand. He dragged her and Ron forward into a wall and by the time the train had passed they were gone.

The two remaining passengers on the opposite platform were gobsmacked. "Damnit!" yelled Parvati, kicking the wall with her foot. _"Angels come in. Repeat: Angels come in."_

Parvati and Lavender exchanged a glance. "This is Goldy," sighed Lavender. "Bosley, we lost them."

A/N: Thanks to my three reviewers – I have taken what all of you have said on board. Indiana: I'm not sure about an Independent Women song but it's certainly an idea… maybe when I've got writer's block with this fic. Springrain I am glad you think my idea is funny, I hope you've come back to read a second chapter. Hyperlymad I am really sorry that you were offended by the colour of Charlie's hair. I agree – the Weasley's do have red hair; I just always thought auburn was a nicer way of describing it. As for romance, at this stage I'm not sure… still working out the intricate details of the plot.

Please come back again – and bring your friends!


	3. The Untraceable Location

Chapter Three: The Untraceable Location

Rated M

One moment Hermione and Ron were standing next to the wall; the next they had been pulled through it. Hermione's first thought was to protect Ron and she grasped his hand tightly. She felt him squeeze her own hand back. Her second thought was that she could not hear Scarlet or Goldy's voices any more so that wherever she was being taken was an untraceable location.

_Oh Ron, _she thought miserably, _what have I got you into? _One of Hermione's greatest qualities was her altruism. Despite having got a reputation for being, as Snape had coined it, an insufferable-know-it-all, she never acted as though her intellect made her life worth more than anyone else's. Growing up, she had always supported Harry's decisions completely, not just because the Boy Who Lived needed her intelligent insight and near-perfect spells, but because he was _Harry, _who needed her emotionally. For that matter, though Hermione, had she indulged in her own personal feelings, would have felt excited at the thought of seeing her best friend, it was the Boy Who Never Shut Up who commanded her attention more at present; she felt responsible for Ron. If anything happened to him under her watch, Charlie would never forgive her. She would be out of a job, for starters, but more importantly she would almost be out of a life. Though Scarlet and Goldy (always Scarlet and Goldy to her, never Parvati and Lavender) had come to mean more to her in the past three years than they had done during all their time of sharing a dormitory at Hogwarts, she would never feel as comfortable in _this _trio as she had done in the one where she actually fit. Harry had stolen himself away from her intimate group… if this possible pseudo-Harry tried to steal Ron from her as well, she would be nothing.

Hermione's mind travelled through these musings so quickly that later she would wonder whether this was what people saw when their lives flashed in front of their eyes. It was a near-enough experience to dying; one moment, standing upright, the next, being pulled through an invisible barrier to a world which you had no idea even existed.

* * *

Parvati and Lavender had never seen Charlie look so angry. He seemed to have aged ten years, and as he sat there fuming, the girls were both reminded of the creatures he used to work with as a younger man; he looked as though he would breathe fire at them. But when he did find his voice, it was icily cold.

"How did you let this happen?" he demanded.

Lavender, rather unsensibly, did not think before speaking. "We didn't just let them disappear, Charlie, we were following them closely…"

"You understand my meaning, Angel," Charlie hissed, interrupting. It was strange how the word angel could seem to have so many definitions. Sometimes it carried all its biblical worth and the girls felt like they had the most rewarding career in the world. But on days like these, when Charlie shook them with fear and spat 'Angel' at them, it seemed as though the girls had sold their souls to the devil, rather than any positive force. "I was not referring to the fact that you allowed a member of the public to be taken to an untraceable location by not following him _closely _enough. What on earth was he doing there in the first place?"

Parvati and Lavender exchanged a glance. They both wished Bosley were there to support them, but he was downstairs, working on the voice decryption. As much as the girls could hold their own in a battle against former Death Eaters, they always lost when answering to Charlie. And it was not as though it was really their fault this time; Skye had chosen to inform Ron about Harry's possible return, the other Angels could hardly blame themselves that he had tagged along. As soon as they had lost them, they made a quick scout of the premises, and, on Charlie's orders had apparated back to their vehicles, which were parked some ten minutes away from headquarters, and driven in. They had not even had time to change – they were still in their waitressing garb, which, apart from anything, added a touch of badly timed humour to the situation. Parvati tried to pull down her tiny mini-skirt to cover her bare legs and Lavender adjusted her yellow blouse to show more cleavage.

Charlie seemed nonplussed by their outfits, thought Lavender, a little confused. Okay, his brother had just possibly been kidnapped, but still, nearly all men would get flustered at the sight of _her _in such a well-fitting, revealing costume. Not that she had a big head.

"I specifically gave you orders not to allow anyone to accompany the Blue Angel, and yet my orders were disobeyed."

"They were not disobeyed!" Lavender began indignantly. Parvati shot her a warning look. Dressed as Lavender was, and also made up in tarty pink lipstick and glittery blue eyeshadow, she looked a typical dumb blonde, which had been the original intention. Unfortunately, thought Parvati, she seemed to be acting it as well.

"We relayed your orders, Sir," Parvati interrupted. "We tried to keep Ron away from Skye, but, well… he was rather persistent."

"It seems to be a family trait," said Lavender, before Parvati could stop her. "Barking up the wrong tree. Running around on fools' errands."

Parvati closed her eyes just in time as she heard a curse being muttered, a crack and a shriek from her colleague. She opened them to find that the chair that Lavender had been sitting on had vanished and her friend was now on the floor in a very undignified position, her skirt having ridden up so high that it now looked like a pair of hot pants, which now hardly covered her bare legs. "I do not run fools' errands," said Charlie, grimly, unperturbed by the sight of what appeared to be a hot and bothered employee. "Stand up."

"God, Charlie," muttered Lavender, as Parvati helped her up. "If you'd wanted me this way, then you only had to ask." Luckily she was too quiet to be heard.

"Now," said Charlie crisply. "Our first objective is to recover the civilian."

"What about Skye?" asked Parvati, also standing up. (She was partly concerned that her chair would be similarly removed.)

"I have no doubt that my third employee will emerge unscathed and full of information as always," he replied shortly. "But as for the other…" For a moment, he seemed to lose all nerve and the girls saw the situation for what it really was… a man bargaining for his brother's life… but the emotion went as quickly as it had come, and when he spoke, he was all neutrality. "Skye was taken there because she was wanted. Ron was an unnecessary addition. Do you know what the last words Cedric Diggory heard were when Harry unknowingly led him on his final journey?"

The Angels shook their heads, although they had a feeling as to what their boss was about to say. They were pretty accurate. " '_Kill the spare_,' " said Charlie. "Let's not give someone else the chance to say that."

* * *

Hermione blinked and looked around her. She was on a beautiful, sandy beach, that stretched as far as her eye could see. The gentle rolling of the tide almost reached her feet, and that rustling… could it be… yes, tall, elegant palm trees lined up behind her. For one moment, it seemed like heaven. Then Ron pinched her.

"Oy," she said. "What was that for?"

"Did it hurt?" her friend demanded. He looked bewildered but determined.

"No, of course it …" Hermione began, but stopped herself just in time. She had almost let it slip how much her pain threshold had increased. The pinch had been nothing compared to the bruises and broken bones she had taken over the course of her training and operations, but Ron wasn't to know that the twelve year old Hermione who had wimpered when Millicent Bulstrode got her in a headlock had grown into a martial arts expert.

"Why did you pinch me, Ron?" she said, instead of trying to cover up her blunder.

"To see if we're dreaming," he said, rolling his eyes.

"We're not dreaming," snapped Hermione, irritated, rubbing her ear, checking for her earpiece. It was there, but didn't seem to be working. "Honestly, if I was dreaming of being stranded on a desert island, I wouldn't choose for it to be with you."

Usually, Ron would have retorted back in fashion, but this time he looked startled, upset even. Hermione was about to apologise when a third voice spoke.

"Who would you rather? Someone not so tall, dark and not so handsome?"

Hermione turned round just in time to see the said not so tall, dark and not so handsome person pull off an invisibility cloak and offer her a wry smile.

There he was, standing in front of her, with such an unabashed expression, you would have thought that he had seen her only yesterday. She wanted to freeze that moment, to take in the sight of this twenty-one year old man revealing himself to her. She wanted to linger on his scar, practically faded now but still there, an essential part of him. She wanted time to take in his new, expensive glasses, his developed jaw, the slight outline of muscles under his robes.

But she was an Angel, and Angels weren't given time to stand and stare. Her wand was already in her right hand before he had finished speaking and she had thrown out her left arm to hold Ron back.

"Identify yourself," she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

"Identify myself?" said Harry, smiling widely. "Blimey, Hermione, when did you start working for the Order?"

"Hermione," Ron said, trying to push her heavy arm away from himself, "can't you see it's Harry?"

"Don't be thick, Ron," she replied, pushing her arm back with more force than she intended. (She heard Ron cry 'ow!' in pain.) "How do we know you're not polyjuiced or this isn't a glamour?"

"Well…" came the reply. "I rather thought you'd be able to tell."

"The Harry Potter I know wouldn't drag us into the middle of the Caribbean without consulting us," she said, not quite believing herself.

"Well, that's interesting," he replied casually. "Since you followed me, and the Hermione and Ron I know follow me everywhere."

"To the ends of the earth, mate," said Ron, cheerily. "Is that where we are by the way?"

"In a way." He made a movement towards them and Hermione raised her wand.

"Don't move," she said, not taking her eyes off 'Harry' lest he try anything.

"Oh come off it, Hermione," scoffed Ron. "He could have killed us by now."

"He does have a point," the other one agreed.

"Plus," added Ron, "Only Harry would be thick enough to use that invisibility cloak again."

"It's true," the other agreed, "I can't really think up any new material. Hey, material, get it… as in material for the cloak?"

"Shut up," said Hermione crossly, not sure whom she was addressing. "Let me handle this, Ron?"

"Oh right," said Ron, "because you've done such a great job so far."

"You've got to admit," the other man chimed in, "you've landed the both of you on the middle of a desert island. You're not winning any house points."

"But – " Hermione protested.

"You know you're only acting like this because you can't admit when you're wrong," Ron continued.

Hermione gaped, unwittingly taking her eyes off the target, and letting both of her arms fall to her sides. "I can so admit when I'm wrong!" she declared, stoutly.

"Interesting," replied Ron. "When?"

"When what?" she demanded.

"When have you admitted you were wrong?"

Hermione looked from one to the other, marvelling at Ron's impeccable timing. Did he really have to bring this up now? "I admit I'm wrong," she said, choosing her words carefully. "when it happens." She paused, and Ron gestured for her to continue, his eyebrows raised. Hermione continued, coughing. "It just hasn't happened yet."

She watched as Ron exchanged a glance with the stranger and after a split second, both men fell to the ground laughing.

Hermione stood between them, resolutely. "And what," she asked, crossing her arms, "is so funny?"

"You've – never – been – wrong!" exclaimed Ron, gasping for air, because he was in peals of laughter.

Hermione actually looked put out. "Well, everyone's been wrong," she admitted, quietly. "What I meant was I can't remember a time I was wrong."

"She must have been memory charmed, eh Ron?" The other man was clutching his sides as he rolled about in the sand.

"Yeah," laughed Ron, nodding. "Because she obviously doesn't remember S.P.E.W. or the time she thought Neville was actually gay…"

"He was very effeminate," Hermione shrieked. "Honestly, Ron, and S – P – E – W was fighting a very good…"

"Or what about," the other cut in, also laughing, "when she thought that Fleur Delacour was in league with Voldemort. God, yeah, Hermione, you're_ never _wrong."

Hermione put her hands on her hips and glared at him, her eyes narrowing. "Fine, side with Ron, you always do, Harry… This is so typical of you! Never mind that my _rarely _being wrong has got you out of all sorts of bother. The two of you would be completely lost without me and don't you try to deny it…" They didn't try to deny it. Both of them were looking at her in earnest, the laughter having gone. "I've been there for you every step of the way, Harry, from the minute I saw you on The Hogwarts Express to when you walked clean out of our lives without so much as a word on the final day of Seventh Year. I was there for you when no one else would or could be, so, just go ahead and tell me that I'm wrong Harry Potter, but…" She trailed away, realising that she needed no explanation or corroboration. She had stopped looking at Ron a long time ago and was now focused on the figure sitting in the sand in front of her. She didn't know when or how she had started referring to him as Harry, but she was now and that was all that mattered really. "It is you, isn't it?" she said, her voice barely reaching a whisper.

"You tell me," said Harry gently. "You're the one who's never wrong."

She stood there, looking into his jade eyes, for what seemed like an eternity. Somewhere, further off, Ron was getting to his feet and crossing over to his best friend. "It's good to see you," he said gruffly, and the two of them awkwardly clapped each other on the back. Harry answered in kind and then they both turned to watch Hermione gingerly. Her best friends were both in front of her. Harry was actually standing only metres away from her. Who cared how or why? Somehow she made it across the sands to reach him, throwing herself into his embrace so forcefully that she knocked him to his knees and she clung to him with so much feeling, like she had ten years ago, the first time she had ever held him. She could feel Ron grinning behind her and heard him make some flippant remark. She felt Harry's chest shiver next to hers, laughing at whatever Ron was saying. Keeping one hand round his shoulders, she reached out with her other and pulled Ron to the ground as well. She heard them both laugh again, but what they were saying was muted out by the crash of the ocean. For the moment she felt utter peace for the first time in three years. He was alive. He was safe. They were all together, and she could protect them both. The Angels and Charlie were long forgotten.

* * *

Lavender could hear the sound of her heels clicking as she and Parvati made their way down the underground corridors. Though these were desperate times, it was important to look and feel the part of sexy undercover women, she felt, as she alternatively pushed her hips to one side then the other when she walked in what Parvati called her 'airhostess walk'. She did feel concerned for Skye, but felt no sense of impending doom. Hermione had been the cleverest witch in the year, and she probably knew Harry well enough to recognise him… even if she hadn't been able to actually _see_ him… Lavender had a gut feeling that everything was alright. She glanced to her right where Parvati was determinedly staring straight ahead, and felt a guilty wash that it was the Blue and not the Red Angel who had been taken from them. As horrible as it sounded, Parvati was practically the closest thing Lavender had to a sister, whereas Hermione was, and always had been, just someone she worked with. She shook herself. Hermione had never been anything but pleasant to her, unless you counted the whole Binky rabbit episode, and the three of them were a team now. They couldn't operate with only two members. It was as much about her own survival as Skye's.

"How are we going to do this?" she asked Parvati, as they approached one of the laboratories.

"No idea," replied Parvati. If she hadn't been trying to be so professional, she would have shrugged. "Charlie said Bosley's close to getting a match with the voice, so that'll be a start."

They had come to the entrance of the laboratory. Lavender grasped the Bouncer Ball device, a silver sphere the size of a tennis ball, from where it was magically gravitating just in front of the door. She bounced the ball once. Instead of hitting the ground with the force that a tennis ball would have, it stopped itself two centimetres above the ground and shot back into her hand quickly. The girls heard the echoes surround them.

_"Brown, Lavender Charlotte, age 21 years and 15 days, physically identified. Please speak for voice verification."_

Instead of saying, as she had done in the beginning, "er, hello?", Lavender pressed on with her conversation. "So are they trying to match it to Harry's first?"

_"Voice verification accepted. Please wait while your companion is identified."_

Lavender threw the ball to Parvati, whose reflexes never failed her. She chose to throw it into the air instead, and just to show off, clapped her hands together twice before the ball shot back to her. _"Patil, Parvati Lakshmi, age 20 years and 330 days, physically identified. Please speak for voice verification."_

"That's what Bosley started with, yeah. But you've got to remember that even the network's only got a copy of Harry's voice three years ago. The voice could have a completely different quality."

_"Voice verification accepted. Welcome to Cloud Nine."_ The door in front of them dissolved into whorls of air, and the Angels again felt that wonderful sensation that they were walking through clouds. 

"Different quality?" asked Lavender, as they made their way through the fog. "You mean, his voice may have broken? He'll have chest hair? Harry's balls might finally have dropped?"

They had reached the other side of the mist, and Parvati turned to stare at her friend. "Are you seriously accusing The Boy Who Lived, the baby who wasn't killed by Avada Kedavra, the teenager who took down Voldemort, of not having any balls?"

"No," Lavender admonished, "I'm saying that they never _dropped_ at school. He was stuck in that pre-pubertal phase. Must have been something to do with living in a cupboard."

"That could be quite a dissertation, Yellow Angel."

Lavender and Parvati looked up and saw that they were being thrown a mixture of different expressions from the hundred or so faces looking down at them from the upper balcony. Some were amused, some were exasperated, some were hanging on to their every word and some, Lavender was pleased to note, were eyeing her up.

"Thanks Bosley," she replied smoothly, flashing him a beautiful smile. "I'll consider it."

"Perhaps it could wait until after this particular mission?" asked another voice archly, from one of the faces that had not been eyeing her up.

"Absolutely Karen," said Parvati, taking over. "Bosley, have you managed to get an answer on that voice decryption?"

"Well, yes…" said Bosley, uneasily. "We've made some progress."

"First thing's first," said Lavender. "Is it Harry?"

Bosley sighed. "It's difficult to tell… Harry's last recorded sample was taken more than three years ago, which means that…"

"Blah, blah," interrupted Lavender. "Yes, yes, his balls may finally have dropped. Just yes or no, Bosley, is it him?"

Bosley ran his hand through his hair. "Well, the fact of the matter is… and we can only be 70 sure if that…"

"Bosley!" exclaimed Parvati and Lavender in unison.

Bosley let out a deep breath. "No. We don't think it is Harry."

* * *

Hermione had eventually released Harry. "We want to hear everything," she said firmly.

"Give him a chance to breathe, Hermione," grinned Ron.

The man they were smiling at smiled back at them. "We do have a lot to catch up on."

"You're damn right we do!" exclaimed Hermione. "I can't believe this… I mean, just like old times… no awkwardness, nothing…"

Ron coughed. "Well, there was that whole you threatening to stun our best friend thing."

"You can't blame her, Ron. You had no way of knowing it was me."

"You do look different," Ron said, cocking his head to one side and taking the sight of Harry in.

"Three years outside Hogwarts'll do that for you. You look less freckly."

Ron scowled. "And you've developed a sense of humour. When did that happen?"

"Round about the time I started hanging out with people who are actually funny," Harry smirked.

Another person would have taken offence, but Ron looked impressed. He clapped his friend on the back. "Sarcasm too!"

Hermione put her hands on her hips. "This is, as usual, fascinating, but I want to hear about where you've been over the last three years, Harry Potter."

The boys both jumped. They had forgotten she was there.

"Course," said Harry. "And I want to hear about what you lot have been up to as well."

"Very dull, mate," said Ron in an off-hand tone, "I'm a translator for the bureaucratic as ever Ministry, and Hermione just pulled off a first."

Harry, however, broke into a smile at this news. "You got a first, really?"

Hermione smirked, wondering what he would make of her real career. "You seem surprised."

Harry shook his head. "I don't know why."

"Enough about us," said Hermione. "Is this home for you? This island or whatever it is?"

"Yeah," shrugged Harry. "It's more, 'whatever it is,' to be honest."

Hermione nodded briskly, folding her arms in a business-like fashion. She had expected as much. "Who's in charge of its landscape?"

Harry looked a bit taken aback, but answered readily enough. "Sirius left it to me in his will."

Hermione glanced at him, aware that Ron was looking from one to the other giving them odd looks. "So you've been in control of it since you were sixteen?"

Harry shook his head. "No, a bit later than that, but I did inherit it then."

Hermione's brow furrowed. "But that was before we – before you cleared Sirius' name."

Harry laughed and shook his head. "Never miss a thing do you, Hermione? Yeah, Dumbledore gave me the keys before the acquittal, so it's never been registered."

Hermione nodded slowly, the pieces finally coming together. The land wasn't registered, so still untraceable. "You do know that's illegal?"

Harry actually looked like he might roll his eyes. "It's not really the first time I've done something that's illegal, now, is it?"

_Yes, _thought Hermione, exasperated, as always, with Harry. _But there was a reason you had to do those things…_

Ron coughed loudly. "What the hell are you talking about?" he demanded. "Why am I always left out of the loop? What's illegal? What do you mean by registered? It's just an island, right?"

For answer, Harry closed his eyes and concentrated so hard that wrinkled lines appeared across his forehead, making him look very old. Then in an instant, the beach, ocean and palm trees had vanished and they were now standing on a confined (but empty) dancefloor. Hermione saw Ron gasp in astonishment, as he looked around his surroundings. A fully fitted bar ran along the line where the bad had previously been, and instead of sunshine, he was staring into a strobe light. Dance music was blaring in the background, and Hermione had to cover her ears because it was deafening. "Can't you turn it down a bit?" she yelled to Harry."

Harry yelled something back to her, but she didn't hear him. But in a minute, he had screwed up his eyes in concentration again and they had again moved location. They were now standing in a comfortable living room. Ron gave a yelp and almost fell into the fireplace. Harry crashed out on an armchair, which looked uncannily like his favourite from the Gryffindor common room, looking exhausted.

"Oh," said Ron, simply.

Hermione threw her hands up in the air. "Harry Potter, you just did two morphs without having any Butterbeer and chocolate! You must be exhausted. Have you no sense?"

Harry, tired as he was, did have the good humour to flash her a smile as he clicked his fingers together once, and a dozen house-elves entered bearing the said medicaments on trays. "I like to live dangerously," he winked, as he settled himself further into his armchair, and lazily helped himself to chocolate. "Now, was there anything else you wanted to know Ron?"

* * *

"Oh God," whispered Lavender, shakily sitting down.

Parvati tried to keep her voice steady. "Are you saying that Hermione and Ron have disappeared into sheer air with someone who probably isn't the hero we thought he was, and we have no idea where they are?"

Bosley held his hands up. "Right now, I have no idea what to say. They've been taken to an untraceable location, that's as much as we can be sure of."

Parvati covered her face with her hands. Eventually she slid her hands far enough down her face so that all that could be seen was her pair of concerned dark eyes. "So all we know is that we have no idea where they are _and _we have no way of collating a list of anywhere where they might be because the bloody Land Office hasn't managed to get a hold of Unregistered Locations yet."

Lavender crossed one leg over the other, ran her fingers through her poker-straight blonde hair and interrupted. "Okay, someone's going to have to fill me in here. What are Unregistered Locations?"

Everyone turned to stare at her. One of the trainees was so surprised that he spoke to her, when usually he hadn't the guts to even venture a 'hi'. "You haven't heard of Unregistered Locations?"

Lavender flashed him a smile of very even, white teeth and put on a dumb face. "I'm blonde, dyslexic and…"

"And a singer," the assembly chorused.

"Yes, Goldy, we've all heard," Bosley sighed, exhausted by her perpetual excuse for not knowing anything. "Simon, care to fill our Yellow Agent in?"

The trainee who had spoken to Lavender went bright red at the thought of actually being _asked_ to speak to her this time around. He pushed his glasses up his nose and cleared his throat. "An Unregistered Location is a piece of land which a new owner has somehow acquired without having gone through the proper procedure. For instance, land that has been unoccupied for decades or land held by the Ministry which is ignored and eventually taken off the Register."

"Thanks Simon," Lavender interrupted. "But I have a question: so what?"

Simon, if possible, turned even redder. "I'm sorry if I – I wasn't clear… basically an unregistered location will never be found on our files which means that it's pretty much untraceable."

Lavender's eyebrows knitted. "But every location is traceable," she pouted, looking at her best friend and ignoring Simon, giving him up as a lost cause. He was probably a little too young for her.

"No, Lavvie," Parvati said, shaking her head. "Every location is traceable as long as it stays in the same form for at least a month."

"Stays in the same form? What do you mean?"

Bosley took over the explanations. "Do you notice how Charlie's office always looks slightly different every now and then?"

Lavender nodded. "Yeah, but I figured he just followed the Changing Room trends," she said, smiling sweetly.

"Goldy, this is serious!" Bosley almost snapped. "Now just keep quiet if you want to hear about this."

Lavender extracted a shiny pink lipgloss from her handbag and began to line her lips with it. "Absolutely. Fire away, Bos."

Bosley sighed, but did not reprimand her any further. "The reason there are constant changes to the architecture of these headquarters has nothing to do with interior decoration. The fact is the land you are standing on is unregistered, and if we keep changing its form within the monthly time period…"

They waited for her to click. After an exaggerated pause, she clicked her fingers together and her eyes lit up. "Nice!"

Karen, one of their top analysts who had never really gelled with Lavender, coughed. "Now that everyone is on the same page, may we continue?"

Parvati shot her an evil look. Lavender always took such things in her stride, but Parvati could not stand it when people put her warm, charming best friend down. "Yes, Bosley, do you have any idea what to do now?"

Bosley, suddenly returning to the immediacy of the situation, again looked concerned. "Not really, I'm afraid. Has anyone had any thoughts while we've been discussing the issue? Anyone? Yes, Karen."

Karen looked directly at Bosley, rudely acting as though none of the Angels was present. "I do have an idea. We have no proof that the Blue Angel is in any immediate danger, all evidence suggests otherwise. Surely it would be better to wait for her to return and report, rather than risk leaking the investigation?"Karen displayed no sign that she was ashamed of what she way saying. "After all," she added, when she was greeted with silence, "the Angels' state of well-being is constantly monitored by the Tracker Bar." She pointed at a bar which was levitating high above their heads which was splashed with the three primary colours.

"That's an interesting idea," Parvati replied icily, before Bosley could veto this suggestion. "Unfortunately, the bar either floats when we're all alive or crashes to the ground when one of us dies, so I'm not prepared to take that risk."

"Yeah," agreed Lavender. "And to think Skye was the only one who actually liked you."

The room rippled with pockets of laughter. "Okay," said Bosley, holding his hand up for silence. "Anyone have any ideas other than waiting for Skye to report back?" He looked around him desperately. "Anyone? No – one? Wait… Simon, have you got a suggestion?"

Surprised Parvati and Lavender turned to face the young lad, who was nervously fidgeting with his clipboard. "Um, it's nothing really… probably a stupid idea."

"No, go on," urged Parvati, and Lavender gave him an encouraging smile.

"Well," Simon muttered, "an untraceable location has descriptions, doesn't it? I mean if it was a flower shop or er, a restaurant it would be described in that way and we do keep a constantly updated list of areas that just appear. For instance, we would have say, 10 new restaurants appear at a time."

"So they _are_ traceable?" asked Lavender, very confused. Parvati took her friend's hand which was a nice way of telling her to shut up.

"In a way," said Simon, distracted from his chain of thought. "They're called untraceables because they change so quickly that you have no real way of tracing patterns of forms… oh, where was I?" He paused. "Oh yes, so then we would have a list of types of forms and we would simply need to work out which type of form the Blue Angel has gone to." He stopped, looking pleased with himself.

Parvati exchanged a glance with Bosley, who was looking disappointed. She also noted that Karen seemed to be happy that someone else was being made a fool of. "Simon," Parvati said, in the tone she used with her young cousins, "that's a brilliant idea. It's just that we have no way of knowing which type of form Skye's gone to. That's the problem. Her tracer isn't working."

"Well, no way of knowing where _she's_ gone, no," continued Simon, hurriedly. "But we do have a possible way of finding out where the other captive is."

Lavender looked utterly perplexed. "Why doesn't anyoneever use people's names? Do you mean Ron? And how on earth are you planning on finding him?"

Simon pushed his glasses up his nose again. "Well, it's not foolproof… I read about it in _Hogwarts, The Next Generation. _I've never actually seen it working myself… and we're going to need Charlie."

There was a very thick silence. Then Bosley put his head in his hands, Lavender's jaw dropped open, and Parvati closed her eyes. Karen had the decency to stifle her laughter into a mere snigger.

* * *

After much pleading and assurances that it was essential to the mission, Charlie accompanied Parvati and Lavender (who had finally changed out of their waitressing outfits into jeans, t-shirts and comfortable shoes) to The Burrow. Simon's plan sounded childlike and foolish, but they had no alternative. Charlie still had his own key. "Try to make it quick," he grumbled, letting them in, "I'm guessing everyone's still at Skye's graduation ceremony, but they'll be home soon seeing as the guest of honour has vanished."

"Where is it?" asked Lavender. Neither she nor Parvati had never been to The Burrow. Hermione, of course, was a welcome face there, but of course, she was elsewhere at present.

"In the living-room," replied Charlie, leading through the hall into a homely sitting area. Parvati spotted it immediately. A large grandfather clock stood in one corner, and if she hadn't examined it closely she might have mistaken it for an ordinary, antique muggle clock. Instead, it was as Simon described. Various possible locations were dotted around the clock where any of the nine Weasleys might be. Charlie's was currently set at home. Parvati's eager eyes soon found Ron's name, and to her relief the second hand was not at 'mortal peril'. Currently, it was resting on 'On Holiday, Abroad.'

She looked up at Charlie, who stiffened beside her. "It's good news, Charlie," she said, firmly.

Lavender was already on her Nokia. "Bosley, it's Goldy. I never get why we have to say that anyway, it comes up on the display screen… oh right, yeah. Ron's location is on holiday abroad. Yeah, that's all we have, sorry…. Well it's only a bloody clock, what is it supposed to do? Get back to me." She hung up, rather abruptly. "They're on it," she added, unnecessarily.

Charlie and Parvati nodded silently, and the three of them grew uncomfortably silent. This was an odd situation to find themselves in; Charlie was the Angels' boss, they didn't go visiting around his parents' house.

"Nice place," Lavender said, pretending to look around.

"No place like home," her boss grunted.

Another silence. Eventually Lavender's mobile buzzed. She answered it very eagerly. "Hey. What? Oh for Heaven's Sake! Goldy here, satisfied?" Parvati tried to smile at Charlie, but he didn't return it. He was evidently still annoyed by the whole day's proceedings. "So what have you got? _What? _Oh you have got to be kidding me!" She took the phone away from her ear, and Parvati heard the voice ramble on. "They've got eight hundred abroad locations. It's too wide a variable or something."

"Well I thought it would be," sighed Parvati, turning back to the clock, "but that's all it… wait, it's changed!"

Charlie snapped to attention. "What?" Ron's hand now pointed to "shady overpriced nightclub". He turned to the girls, the blood rushing to his face. "Why weren't you watching it?"

Parvati, taken aback, resisted the urge to yell back, 'why weren't you?'

"Sorry Charlie, Lavender get that relayed to Bosley," she said, now focusing all her attention on the clock.

"Well, how are we to know that it hasn't changed in the meantime?" Charlie demanded. "It could have changed form or type at least five times!"

"It's changing now," said Parvati, gritting her teeth. Sure enough, the second hand was whirring round and round looking for a place to stop. It eventually came to rest.

"Bosley, we're looking for something that changed less than three minutes ago to a shady nightclub…"

"Shady _overpriced _nightclub," hissed Charlie, as though this were a vital detail.

"…Shady _overpriced_ nightclub, sorry, and 10 seconds ago changed again to rich friend's living room…."

Parvati focused all her energy on the tiny mobile phone next to Lavender's ear, willing for the team at the other end to have come up with something.

"We've got to go," said Charlie quickly.

"What?" Parvati asked. "But we might need… oh." She had noticed that the clock was now showing that nearly all of the Weasleys were now "Travelling Home".

"We'll go out of the back," he said quickly, "I'll just lock us in first, so they don't know anyone's been here."

He hurried to the front door and turned the key in the lock once. Lavender and Parvati began moving toward the kitchen area. Charlie joined them and quickly they let themselves out. They heard two things as they climbed over the back fence and were about to apparate: Mrs. Weasley's joyful 'home sweet home' and Lavender's shriek. "Bosley's got a match. We've just got to get back to headquarters, they're fixing a portkey."

Parvati let out a sigh of relief, glad they were getting one step closer to finding their missing loved ones.

* * *

Hermione was getting rather giggly on her butterbeer. Harry seemed to have a slightly stronger brand of the drink, which was just as well really because he needed to recover his strength after all those form changes. Eventually, she knew she would have to get the boys out of there and back to the real world, but it was so _nice _being here, in surroundings that reminded her so strongly of the Gryffindor common room. She felt rather like a naughty school-girl who knows she's missing her curfew and couldn't care less. Besides, she knew that Goldy and Scarlet couldn't be too worried about her… she wouldn't have dived into a wall with anyone she wasn't certain of.

_But you weren't certain, were you?_ a little voice at the back of her head said.

"Another half hour," she told herself, leaning back and resting her head on Ron's shoulder and listening to the rest of Harry's animated story.

* * *

"The portkey both ways is this ring. Twist it round three times and you'll be back. Anyone coming with you must be holding your hand or touching you in some other way."

"Ooh Bosley," smirked Lavender, "I didn't know you had it in you." Moods had lifted considerably.

"Who wants to wear the ring?" Bosley continued, as though he hadn't heard her.

Parvati smiled. "Give it to Goldy, it is made out of that metal, after all."

Bosley handed it to Lavender, who slipped it onto her finger. "What about costumes?"

"We've had Simon tell us that he's picking up house-elves in the vicinity. So you're going to be Polyjuiced."

Lavender blinked. "Into what?" she asked blankly.

"Hold up, Bosley," Parvati said. "I've been polyjuiced before, but it's not meant to work on animals. Skye told us about this time…"

Bosley held up a hand. "House-elves are not animals. Trust me, you will be absolutely fine for the next hour."

Lavender's eyes grew wide in alarm. "House-elves?" she shrieked. "_HOUSE-ELVES?" _

Parvati sighed. "Come on, Lavvie, let's just drink up." She held her hand out for the potion, which Bosley handed to her. He gave them two vials. Parvati stepped behind the desk for privacy, and Lavender followed her, furious. "The things I do for this job! Skye better appreciate what I'm putting myself through!"

"Knowing her," said Parvati, stripping down to her sports bra and pants, "she'll start trying to hand you clothes and free you from your duties. Now lets see, do you want to be Bubble or Squeak?"

"I'd prefer not to be mousey thanks," Lavender squeaked, having also undressed. "I'll take Bubble."

Both girls clasped their vials and each other's hands. "Ready?" asked Parvati.

"As I'll ever be," Lavender replied. On the count of three they drank.

It took a while for the transformation to occur. Gradually they felt themselves shrinking, their ears growing large and pointy, their feet growing longer and thinner. Their vision blurred (house-elves can't see as well as humans) but both could smell better; the perfume that Lavender had been wearing nowpractically reeked. The girls turned to face each other. Parvati was annoyed to find that Bubble was, like Lavender, very pretty, whereas she could tell from the amused expression on Bubble's face that Squeak was more like the ugly sister. Bubble also had a better figure; Parvati looked down at her own squat body which had several rolls of fat. "Er, Bosley," she called, her voice very shrill and, unsurprisingly, squeaky. "What are we supposed to wear?"

Bosley's voice echoed loudly in her new, sensitive ears. "You're house-elves. You don't wear anything."

"Brilliant," Parvati muttered. "Well, could we please have two small rucksacks for our clothes? Eventually we'll turn back and I'd like to be fully covered when the time comes."

Five minutes later Bosley came round the corner carrying two child size rucksacks. He bit his lip at the sight of his two employees staring up at him stubbornly in their new attire. "We've put water bottes, your mobiles and your wands in each of these. Careful that they don't see the wands because elves aren't allowed them. And there's also two vials in here – one will turn you back into yourselves should you need to, and the other will keep the guise going for another hour. You still got the ring, Goldy?"

Lavender held up her thumb. She was not merely giving him a thumbs-up, she was showing him the ring; it was now too big for any of her fingers.

"Alright then, good luck Angels."

The two house-elves clasped hands and Goldy turned the ring three times.

Unlike ordinary portkeys, this did not work in the usual fashion; rather, it was closer to an apparation and the house-elves zapped out of Cloud Nine into what appeared to be a kitchen busy with activity.

"Wow," squeaked Parvati. "Lots of house-elves."

"Yeah," agreed Lavender, "Some of them aint half bad."

Parvati closed her puffy eyelids. "Tell me you're not checking out male house-elves."

"Nothing better to do."

"What about the mission?" hissed Parvati. Naturally the hiss came out as another squeak.

"Good point, where can we stash our rucksacks?"

"Yous two!" a voice cried. The girls turned round to see a familiar looking house-elf glare at them. He was wearing a chef's hat, a badge that said 'Potter for President' on his bare skin, and three pairs of thick socks. "What are yous two doing? Why are you not deliveries goodies to Mister Harry Potter and his Wheezy? And what are you carrying in those bags?"

"Goodies for Mister Harry Potter," Parvati said without hesitation.

"And his Wheezy," Lavender added.

"They are not supposed to be in bags. They are meant to be on trays! What will Mister Potter think?"

"We're sorry," apologised Lavender, with remarkable sincerity.

"We're sorry what?" the house-elf demanded.

Parvati and Lavender glanced at each other, lost. "Er… we're sorry, sir?"

"You is not knowing Mister Dobby's name? What is Mister Dobby's name?"

"We're sorry Mister Dobby," Parvati and Lavender chorused.

Dobby looked suspicious as though they had tricked him in some way. "Well you be hurrying up with getting those goodies onto trays!" he snapped.

He flounced off to yell at some other dithering house-elves. Parvati and Lavender inched forward to where a line of house-elves was exiting the kitchen, balancing trays on their heads. Taking a deep breath in, they looked around the corner.

And were astounded by what they saw.

Skye, Ron and, by the looks of it, Harry Potter were sitting round a table in comfortable chairs _laughing. _Parvati felt her jaw drop. All this time… terrified of the situations that Skye and Ron might be in and here they were, exchanging stories as though this was perfectly normal.

"I am going to _kill _her," Parvati growled (squeaked).

"So much for SPEW," Lavender said, as they watched Skye dip her hand into a tray and devour some malteasers.

A/N: Hey,everyone, finally returning to fanfiction! A few notes about this chapter:

Changing Rooms is a British programme which is about interior decoration. The unsuspecting victims are always made to look thrilled by some pretty ghastly changes to their home. Some of it isn't bad though.

Hogwarts: The Next Generation is the revised edition of the book Hermione loved at school. As you may have gathered, it features insights into the way Harry Potter defeated Voldemort - the Weasley clock was one of them.

"I'm blonde, dyslexic..." "And a singer, we know!" This comes from my best friend Katherine who, at school, who always cry "I'm blonde, dyslexic and an actress, leave me alone!" whenever she made a mistake. She's now at drama school and surrounded by people in a similar plight so she doesn't use the excuse as much anymore. What a shame, I kind of miss it :(

The Tracker Bar is a type of cereal bar, but like The Bouncer Ball, I thought it would be a useful tool at Cloud Nine.

Stay tuned for the next chapter, in which the Angels return to headquarters, they finally work out whether that voice decryption was Harry, Ron is very confused (still) and Charlie, Parvati, Lavender and Bosley **all **give Hermione a serious talking to.


End file.
